


The Warmth of Our Breath

by Saucery



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Internal Monologue, Introspection, Love, Near-Death Experience, Pack Feels, Quiet, Romance, Sacrifice, Survival, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We learn our virtues from our friends who love us; our faults from the enemy who hates us. We cannot easily discover our real character from a friend... [who] is a mirror, on which the warmth of our breath impedes the clearness of the reflection." - Jean Paul Richter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warmth of Our Breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tribyen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tribyen).



* * *

 

He's been cold for so long, silent and still as a tomb inside himself, that he hardly notices it when Erica finds her way in.

Later, he'll wonder about how it happened, exactly - whether it was the simple, animal warmth of having a  _pack_  that broke him, that brought him out of his (safety) solitude. Or whether it was Erica and her acid smile, sharp as a tack, sharper even than her fangs, the pearl-gleam of them against her red, red mouth, the heat of her skin.

Or whether it was something else, some weakness inside of him, some desperate and grasping child that only wanted something that was all  _his_.

Erica isn't his. Erica isn't anybody's. Erica is free, flame-free, batted by the wind and just as easy to put out. He envies her that freedom, sometimes, but mostly, he worries about her.

He doesn't want to.

He isn't supposed to worry about  _anyone_.

(But himself.)

He still doesn't know the answer, when the Argents hunt him down. When Allison's arrows start killing him, one by one, each taking him a step closer to death, as surely and steadily as if he were walking toward it, dogged as a pilgrim, determined as a -

As a -

He's dying.

He's dying, and Erica's  _sobbing_ , and the sound of it is so rich and strange, rainfall in a distant place, lips soft as moss against his, tears salty as his own blood, quenching a thirst he'd never known he had.

He tries to tell her it's okay, that he never meant to - to leave her here -

But then, the arrows stop, and Erica slumps over him like a puppet with its strings cut, and no,  _no_ , she should be getting away, she should be -

"They're just children," he hears Chris Argent's voice, from somewhere, but Erica's hair falls to surround him, protect him, a curtained darkness within which there is nothing but Erica's breath, her relief, her slowing pulse, her  _scent_.

"Don't ever. Protect me again," she says, her voice jagged as cut glass, and Boyd touches her face, and sighs. "Promise me," she repeats, hoarsely. " _You'll never protect me again._ "

He doesn't answer her.

He doesn't want to lie.

 

* * *

  


**fin.**


End file.
